The Great WaterGun War
by Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain
Summary: Hess returns. Prequel to Holy Day Rated R for language and watergun violence. Note: no waterguns were harmed during the writing of this story. COMPLETE!
1. So it begins

Disclaimer:  I do not own most of these characters.  This story is written for entertainment purposes only.

Author's Note:  This one is dedicated to the comedy fans who enjoyed the last one so much.  Once again, take a peek at the side of starship life that no one gets to see.  All the stuff that _doesn't_ make it into the official logs.  Since this is a prequel, obviously the timeline is earlier.  Second season to be precise.  And oh, yeah.  Read the footnotes again.

The Great WaterGun War

            There are some days made for stories, those dark dreary days where it seems that all is grey, and never shall there be anything to do, but sit and sigh.  Those blustery, flustery days where you sit, and sigh, and draw little pictures of nothing on the walls and calculate run-time equations just for a little something to do.  Well, snuggle up, kiddies; cause Aunty Nic's got a good one for you here…

            It was a dark and dreary day in the summer of 2152, dark and dreary because the nearest sun lay over a trillion miles away.  Things ticked over nicely, it seemed as though nothing could possibly go wrong.  It was the third week of such days, the point at which routine no longer serves to stimulate, where the mere presence of the same faces, and the same uniforms and the same conversations begins to threaten the sane.  Already minor rebellions arose and were quashed, but anyone could feel the storm brewing, ready to bust loose into a full-fledged hurricane.

            Like most events such as this, it began slowly, with a minor innocuous event...

            "What the hell?" Spoken by one of the only people who can get away with such words in my presence, the simple phrase causes everyone to around.  Commander Tucker wipes the back of his neck, then looks upward.  He's looking for something he can't find, because it's no longer there.  I know, because I saw Crewman Jennings move his cup before the condensation fell.  But to Commander Tucker, it is definitely a mystery.

            He bends down over his work again, and I to mine.  An idea forms, however, a very tempting idea, and so simple for its execution.  It would never have occurred to me, but for the fact that I am very, _very_ bored.  The value of even minor amusements inflates in such times, to where the risk outweighs the punishment, because at least punishment would be interesting[1].

            I excuse myself for a moment, go pick up some supplies.  Equipment secured, I return to paperwork.  And then…

            "What the _hell_?"  Commander Tucker wipes the back of his neck, then looks upward, again.  He's looking for something he can't find, because it wasn't there in the first place.  Muttering, he returns to his work.

            "Damnit."  Normally I'd be coming out of my skin at this kind of language, I don't like sacrilege.  Profanity is fine, but there are certain words I don't hold with using.  However, those same words tend to form most of the Commander Tucker expressive lexicon, and while I have hit him for it before[2], doing so now would most certainly make this game a little less fascinating.  He really scans the area above his head this time, trying to locate his phantom leak.

            Failing to do so, he begins a diagnostic.  If the commander has one big flaw, it is a tendency towards obsessiveness.  If the slightest little thing goes wrong, he has to track it down and fix it before he can rest easy.  This is not necessarily a bad thing, given that a small problem can lead to a big disaster, especially on board a starship, but it also means he can be very predictable at times.

            "Right."  Maybe three times was too much.  "Who's playing games around here?"

            Everybody looks innocent, which – given that we're engineers – means everybody looks guiltier than a puppy on a wet spot.

            "Begman?  Hollis?  Nabakov?"  He tosses out a few names at random, gets a few random headshakes.  "It's not funny, you know."  He says it like he's mad, but I can see the corners of his mouth twitching.  He turns around, goes back to work…

            _Bam_.  Full force, right in the back of the neck.  He spins around, heads straight for me.  "I saw that, Hess."  His monitor displays a nice security cam shot of Engineering, he probably did see me, the bastard.  Besides, I can't deny it, my lips are twitching too.  Instead I let it loose, a series of giggles that shakes its way through my entire body.  He looks too priceless, his hand out, expecting.

            I hand it over, there's not much I can do.  He examines it for a moment, turning it around in his hands, then sprays me, right between the eyes.  Chuckling, he pockets my gun and turns back to his station.

            I whip out my back-up (my family is stocked with lawyers and cops, of _course_ I have a back-up) and hit him again before he's gone three steps.  What starts as a two person shoot-out quickly expands as people begin fabricating their own weapons.  Given that a watergun is a basic hydraulic pump, there's a lot of things lying around that an engineer can use to make one.  Battlelines become drawn, sides are chosen.  Given how these things usually work, it's commissioned officers versus the non-coms, with a few class traitors either way.  As a result, the two sworn enemies who started it all are now maintaining status as allies.

            "There's so many of them!"  The commander pops up from under the desk we're using for shelter and nails somebody trying to creep over top.

            "That tends to be the case with non-coms, sir."  The desk I really want is over next to the matter/energy converter, in territory controlled by the enemy.  "Cover me."

            "I'm running out of ammo!! And I can't tell when they're dead!"  He knocks out someone trying to get in through the front then swears.  "I'm dry."

            I give him my gun, take his.  "Wish me luck, sir."  I make a dash for it, barely getting there alive.  Two crewmen are hiding out under this desk, I disarm one then shoot them both with my captured weapon.  I then lay down a stream of cover fire for Commander Tucker.  He bruises something getting under, but otherwise is okay.

            "Now what?" He's almost out of ammo again, but we've just cornered the main supply.

            Gleefully I've discovered that one of the enemy was kind enough to feed a hose down, and rig a remote control.  "We reload sir.  Then I've got an idea."

            "Good."  We take turns filling the chambers, then I get him to cover for me again.  A few tweaks to the mix and…

            "Ah, Hess.  Did I ever tell you I love you?"

            "I still could never date you sir.  Southern men are bastards, I know from experience."

            "Only the ones you're related to."  He pauses for a moment. "You don't suppose…"

            "I doubt it sir.  You'd be much better looking."  Actually, on that front I _am_ the black sheep of the family.  Not that I'm bad looking, but my brothers have been known to cause riots within large crowds of women.  So have I, but only because they're running scared.

            He aims his gun at me, and I think he's gone traitor when he shoots past me, stopping an attempted ambush.

            "Thank you, sir."  I scramble back under cover, just as an entire wave washes over the desk.

            "Are they bombing us now?"

            "Looks like, sir."  Sneaky bastards.  Oh well, they don't know about our next great weapon either. "Sir…"

            At that moment, the door across the way opens, neatly framing Lieutenant Reed who has no idea what he's walking into.  Everybody freezes, except for one trigger happy fool who hits our armoury officer dead in the centre of the chest.

            "What…"  Reed looks around, confused, and a little angry. "What are you people _doing_ here?"

            Nobody moves, nobody says anything.  Then Commander Tucker stands up, and gives Lieutenant Reed a shot right between the eyes.  Using our new loads of dark blue dye.

* * *

[1] This is a good example why, if you have a surfeit of engineers, you never let them get bored.  Bored engineers get creative, and a little creativity can be a dangerous thing.

[2] I think I already explained this once.  It's complicated.  Kind-of.


	2. The Declaration is made

There's another moment of silence while everybody takes it all in.  Then, moving quickly, Reed grabs a gun from a nearby crewman, fires a shot back at Commander Tucker and disappears through the door.

            "We have a new enemy, men."  With one statement, the commander goes from upright target to hero.  "While they may claim to be stronger than us, they may claim to be more experienced than us, I tell you this:  They still will not take us.  We have the advantage of numbers, and most of all, we have the advantage of brains[1].  Now, everybody re-arm.  If we stay here, we're sitting ducks.  We must also consider our fellow engineers innocently trapped out there in enemy territory.  We need to rescue them, or at the very least make sure they're equipped to defend themselves.  As for further tactics, I defer to experience in this area, and turn you over to Lieutenant Hess."  "Thank you, Gen… er, Commander."  It's only half sarcastic, well, maybe three-quarters.  "Now I don't think I need to impress upon you the need for stealth at this time.  _They_ are out there, at this very moment, hiding among the non-combatants.  What we do _not_ need at this time is to attract the attention of senior officers, at least not those more senior than the commander."  A wave of nods runs through Engineering at that suggestion.  Getting Captain Archer (or worse yet, Sub-Commander T'Pol) involved at this stage would prove to be a problem.

            "I believe I can assist you on that front, Lieutenant."  The commander gets a calculating look in his eye, and I don't even want to speculate as to his plans.  I can only hope that they don't involve getting us all arrested.  Or him arrested, leaving me in charge.  That was my worst fear, when I found out he and Lieutenant Reed were in life-threatening danger on board Shuttlepod One, that time:  the fact that I might have to permanently take over this rabble.  I am _not_ the commanding officer type, I'm much better as an SIC.

            "We will leave that in your capable hands, then, sir."  If I don't know, I can't testify at the trial.

            First, however, he proves he does have intelligence by gathering some.  Enterprise is outfitted with hundreds of security cameras like the one the commander used to nab me.  Any of these can be accessed from any desk console, provide you have the right password.  Even if he wasn't entitled by virtue of his rank to have the code, trying to keep a password from Commander Tucker is like trying to imprison a fish by surrounding it with water.  Sooner or later you'll figure out that it just ain't gonna work.

            Lieutenant Reed must have really been moving, because he's already at the armoury.  The commander tweaks a few controls and we have audio as well as visual.

            _"Get somebody duplicating those as soon as possible."  _He doesn't even slow down as he tosses the gun he seized to one of his men.

            _"What's going on, sir?"_  The crewman turns the gun over in his hands a few times, figuring out how it works.  That's why he's not an engineer.  At a time like this you ask what it _does_, then, duplicate the _result_.  Most cases, it's way faster.

            _"The engineers have armed themselves with those things, and they aren't afraid to use them."_  Surprisingly he looks rather dignified and serious for a man with a blue face.

            _"What?  _All_ of them?"_ This from a crewmember more to the back of the room.  He sounds appropriately aghast at the prospect.

            _"As far as I can tell, only the ones in main Engineering.  However, we cannot assume the situation will remain that way."_  He sits down at his own desk, and taps a few controls, but Commander Tucker's fingers are faster, and our screen splits to show the security cam on half of it, and what Lieutenant Reed is trying to do with his console.  He's getting ready to spy on _us_.

            "Son of a bitch.  I don't think so."  Just as an image of main Engineering resolves on the lieutenant's console, it wavers then scrambles, and a squeal of feedback pours out of his speakers.

            Reed says a few words that none of us thought he knew, and spins his chair around before getting up and covering half the room in a couple of paces.  _"Denning!"_

_            "I swear, sir, I changed those codes just last week.  No one except for you should be able to override those cameras like that."_  Denning sounds shocked.  We, on the other hand, can't help laughing.

            _"And I swear that that man has no idea what a security protocol is."_  Not true.  Commander Tucker knows exactly what a security protocol is; he just doesn't believe that they ever apply to him.  Kind of like locks, alarms and KEEP OUT, AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY signs. _"Well, I'll tell you this:  we are not going to be beat by some gadget happy southern redneck with a Peter Pan complex."_

"Hey.  Watch it, buddy."  Commander Tucker and I say it in unison; the description could apply to either one of us.  If he wants a grudge match…

            "I can give you a war if you want it, Malcolm."  The commander echoes my thoughts, determination settling in on his features.  This is not a good sign for anyone who has decided to take him on:  when he's determined you can't stop the commander with a tranquilliser gun, fifty pound weights on his feet and a safe dropped on his head.  Even Captain Archer knows enough to stand aside when Mr. Tucker gets that look on his face.  Shit, Sub-commander _T'Pol_ knows to back down when that look appears.

            The mood shifts again.  This was a game to alleviate boredom, but now pride is at stake.  And _no_ engineer is going to go down without a fight when that's what the wager is.

            "Grenades."  Rostov speaks up, in his usual cryptic manner.  He _can_ carry on a normal conversation, but when things become important, he tends to condense things down as much as possible.

            I nod.  "Sounds good, but we're going to need something a little more reliable, and a little sturdier than the plastic bags I used as a kid."  The only problem with water-balloon type grenades is that they're hard to carry but easy to set off, and you're liable to end up getting yourself rather than the enemy.

            "No problem.  Binary compound triggers."  Now that could work.  Place a little capsule of something in the container, a couple of chemicals that create a gas when combined.  Too much pressure and the container bursts.  We'll get a wider spray pattern than with the standard splash, and it gives us an opportunity for delay triggering as well.

            "What about supply lines?"  Crewman Bitten steps forward, looking a little worse for wear.  "We're not always going to be near M.E. converters to get our ammo."

            "We'll use the maintenance shafts."  Suddenly I'm glad that last week's feature was _The Great Escape_.  "Work in teams, two escorts to each convoy.  Be on constant lookout for ambush.  Remember, we may have the advantage of numbers for now, but that only lasts if you stay alive.

            "Communications."  Rostov again.

            "Our or theirs?"  After a while you get used to it, learn which questions to ask.

            "Both."

            I glance at the commander.  "As far as theirs go, how badly can we screw up the communications system without being noticed?  Or do you just want to monitor them?"

            He thinks for a moment.  "Monitor only first, screw them up later if it becomes necessary.  I don't want to give us away too much at this stage.  Always hold something in abeyance for when you really get desperate."  Now that it's become serious, he's thinking tactically.  Despite the impressions of people like Lieutenant Reed and the Sub-commander, Commander Tucker is very good at tactics.  You don't give up chess[2] because it's too easy and start playing Go instead if you're not a tactician.  He's also murder as a poker opponent, simply for his ability to drive his adversary insane.  "Now, Rostov, I want you and Hollis working on those grenades.  Simpson?  You're in charge of monitoring communications, I want all calls placed or received by any of the armoury personnel to be logged and recorded.  Dennison and McCarthy will work with you."  Simpson nods, and heads off to get started.  "Now we're going to need more hand weapons, and some sort of defensive shielding.  Dortman?  That's your job.  It'll have to be lightweight, portable, but capable of sheltering at least one person apiece.  See what you can rig up.  The rest of you will divide into teams.  I want our smaller people to be running the supplies, mainly because you'll be able to manoeuvre in those maintenance shafts more easily.  Dortman?  I'll need you to get something together for them, too.  The rest of you will form roving teams.  Try to be as discreet as you can, but don't let your guard down.  If you see an armoury officer, _assume_ he's armed and involved.  Take him out early."

            Now is about the time, in the movies, where something stupid like 'leave him to me' is said.  The heroic 'This is personal, so I'm handling it personally' type of comment.  "And if you run into Malcolm, remember, he's just made this personal, so I want you to make sure that you get him good.  You can hand him my compliments afterward, but I don't want him getting away.  Is that clear?"

            Clear?  You just told a bunch of grunts they can have free shots at an officer and you're asking if they understand?  That's not an order, that's a gift straight from the angels.  You won't be able to tell Lieutenant Reed from his uniform by the time this day is over.  As for me… as much as I admire and get along with Malcolm at most times, he just said some very nasty things about either me, or a close, personal friend of mine, and they hurt me very much.  At this point I would be happy to _paint_ him blue, and leave him in Commander Tucker's desk chair all tied up in a bright shiny ribbon.  I'm not the vindictive type _at all._

* * *

[1]  Given this speech, I'd question that, but I didn't have the heart to interrupt him.

[2]  Rumour has it he challenged Ambassador Soval to a game once, and beat him in twenty moves.  This is (apparently) one of the reasons Soval hates him so much.#                             

#I would, too, come to think of it.


	3. Getting Nasty

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, this is for entertainment purposes only.

I'm not on one of the teams, it's agreed that I can do more damage as a roving OSS[1] type operative. Or rather, I suggest it and nobody argues. Not that I can exactly go undercover – everybody knows what side I'm on, and that the likelihood of me turning traitor[2] rests right up there with the likelihood of a natural snow Winter Olympics on Mercury. It _could_ happen, but would be a major sign that something is horribly wrong with the universe.

Thus, I am off on a scouting trip when the following happens. Since I heard about it third hand, what follows counts only as hearsay, and I cannot be called upon to testify upon these matters should any proceedings happen to arise.

**He's managed to wrangle the two of them into Archer's dining room for lunch, when the call comes in. It's Rostov, claiming there's a problem with the electrical system, and could the commander please come and take a look. Naturally, our highly responsible leader cannot ignore a plea like that, and promises to be back quickly. When the door closes, there ****_is_ a problem with the electrical system, amazingly somehow the door to Captain Archer's dining room locks itself, then disconnects from the system, at _precisely the same time_ the connecting door to his quarters does. This is an amazing coincidence, when you consider that they are on separate circuits. Since they are having lunch and are not expecting the commander back instantly, there should be some lag time before they discover their predicament.**

Meantime, I'm bopping my way through a maintenance tunnel towards one of the main hubs of the communications system. I'm going to rig up a little something so that Simpson can more easily sort out the armoury calls from anything else, and try to keep Ensign Sato from getting suspicious. _My _thought is, that if she thinks something's wrong, it's always good to have a little something to point at and say, "Oh, my. You're right. Let me fix that for you." Unlike Commander Tucker who thinks fastest on his feet, I prefer to have a few contingency plans in place, because in my experience, there are always contingencies.

Halfway there I have to drop down into the hallway, because a conduit runs perpendicularly through the shaft, and I can't fit around it. I look before emerging, knowing that armoury personnel could be hiding anywhere. Seeing no one, I start down the hall. And straight into an ambush.

They're waiting for me at the next tunnel access, three of them. Well, the commander did say it wouldn't take long for them to figure it out. Stupid thing is, they grin when they see me, which not only gives them away, but slows them down. Never gloat before you kill the other guy, and honestly, I wouldn't waste my time doing afterwards, either.

I run for the nearest corner and dive into a roll, which brings me to my feet much farther down. I shoot the first guy around, then dodge out of the way as his buddy fires on me. They're using red dye, all the better to show up. Plus, I suppose they think it looks more like blood, and is thus more macho or something. What it is, is easier to see, kind of like a tracer. The eye focuses more on bright colours, not dark ones, which is one of the reasons I went with the blue in the first place.

I fire back on him, catching him square in the chest. I notice neither one of them is being too good at playing dead.

"The bastards are cheating, guys. All bets are off." If they won't lay down and die[3], then we don't have to either. And since it's already been mentioned that we outnumber them…

"It's only 'cause it's you, Hess. You and that boss of yours. We've got special orders."

"Yeah, well do me a favour and pass him a message." I duck into a nearby turbolift, barely avoiding three streams of dye as they smack into the doors. Hitting the intercom I make sure they can hear me. "Tell Malcolm he can fuck himself. We're winning." Truth is, this makes me mad. Sure, Commander Tucker told everybody they could take shots at Malcolm, but he never told them that they could make like zombies and resurrect. That's just plain dirty.

Well, one thing about us engineers, we've never been afraid of a little dirt. If he wants to play like that, well then, we can play like that.

There's a muttering in my ear, it takes me a second to realise it's Commander Tucker.

"Sir? I didn't quite catch that. Is this a secure line?"

"No. I've decided to broadcast our plans throughout the entire ship. Of course it's a secure line, moron." I could be offended, but he refers to himself by that moniker enough to make it flattering. "We are not going to descend to Malcolm's level on this. We are engineers, we hew to a much lower standard. We are going to make that snotty little bastard wish he'd never ever _thought_ of messing with us." I have to admit, that is the general engineering standard. I just hope this isn't the end of a beautiful friendship. I mean, what will the captain think when his armoury officer is confined to sickbay with a nervous breakdown, caused by his two top engineers. I like having a boss who knows how to wangle almost anything from the man ultimately in charge. I used to like Malcolm, too, but there's no time for sentimentality at a time like this.

Simpson breaks in. "Lieutenant, I have a message for you, it's from Lieutenant Reed."

"Go ahead." I doubt he's calling to surrender, I wouldn't accept it if he was.

"He says he'd rather it was you."

Bastard. He acts so right and proper, you never think he could be the one with the comeback lines. I guess we've just gotten too used to him being Commander Tucker's straight man that we forget that famously dry sense of humour the British are said to possess. And he's set it up in such a way as to be almost flattering.

Almost. "Tell him I'm not that desperate yet, that I doubt I ever will be." Meanwhile I can hear Commander Tucker snorting on his line. I'm glad I can amuse him.

"So. You were saying something about making him wish?"

"Meet me back in Main Engineering. We'll talk."

Oh, this is going to be nice. Mr. Reed, say your prayers.

* * *

[1] If we had an office. Or a definitive strategy for that matter

[2] Yes, I started by attacking Commander Tucker, and am now on his side, but that was a free-for-all, and this is war.

[3] Or is that dye?


	4. Bad News and Brewing Problems

Disclaimer: As always, I do not own these characters. I am, however, quite willing to let them run rampant for a while. Yes, I am evil.

Author's note: Shameless plug alert. Please read and review, and if you like it, pass the word. Evil and shameless. What can I say?

......................................................................................................................................

He gathers me and Rostov around his desk, keeping his voice low. "I think it's time we automated this war. Moved up to artillery."

"Artillery, sir?" From the reports, Rostov's grenades are working well, but the armoury has found a way to replicate those too. I can see him starting to wrap his mind around something bigger.

For me the word 'automate' was the clue. "You're thinking of using the sprinkler systems, sir? Isn't that a little indiscriminate?"

"Not if we time it right. Any time we can get Reed, or any of them isolated, we trigger the system. Drown the bastards if we have to. Eventually they'll decide to give up."

"I hear they've been recruiting from other departments, sir. Evening up the numbers." Rostov doesn't have the same problem I do with indiscrimination. He is the one, after all, who thought of using grenades.

Commander Tucker's fingers twitch, and I can tell he's trying not to make a fist. Good thing, too, because he throws an appalling punch. "That lousy little…"

I stop him before he says something about a fellow officer that he might regret. "There's nothing to stop us from doing the same thing, sir. A great many more might want to join the winning side."

The commander nods, conceding the point.

"Sir?" It's Simpson. "Actually, we're getting reports that there's another faction."

"Another _faction_?" All three of us say it at once. I can only hope we haven't lost Maintenance.

"Science has got their own people involved, sir. And they've pulled in Command Support."

Command Support. Every single paper pusher on the ship. "It seems one of them accidentally wandered into some crossfire, and…"

"Fuck." Things just got way more complicated. Then, to make matters worse, Commander Tucker's com panel starts beeping.

"Tucker, here."

"Commander. Why can't I open my door? And why am I hearing shouting from the hall?" Captain Archer sounds way too suspicious. Immediately the rest of us make like we're doing work. Any work.

"I don't know about the shouting, sir. I'll find out for you if I can. As for your door, there does appear to be a glitch in the system." He sounds so honest, so sincere.

"It wouldn't be the same glitch that's affecting communications, would it? You're the first person I could actually get through to."

"You're the first to report a communications problem, sir. I'll contact Hoshi right away, see what I can find out. We'll have you out of there as soon as possible, sir." He adds a touch of feedback and static, then lets the line go dead.

"All right. Now our main enemy is still going to be the armoury, but we can't ignore the science people either. At the same time, I think this new information cancels out your objections to the artillery, Lieutenant."

I nod. Aside from the two people in the captain's dining room, there are no innocents left onboard Enterprise. Everyone is fair game, now. "And we've got to make sure that he pays for his little 'no-play-dead' trick." It still irks me, the cheater.

"Actually…" Simpson pulls back, to indicate he's just he messenger. "Apparently that only applies to you and the commander. What I heard was basically '…and his little dog, too.'"

Commander Tucker has to wrap both arms around me to stop me from charging from the room and physically shoving those words straight back down Malcolm's throat. I may be strong, but dragging seventy-five and three quarter kilograms[1] of dead weight is not an easy task.

"Relax, Hess. I'll handle it."

"You better, sir. I'm a cat person." Which means I am not a nice, loyal type, cuddly person, like a dog person would be. I'm independent, vicious, and easy to offend. And have sharp claws.

Lifting me off the ground, he carries me over to a corner. "Stay here, for now. Cool off."

I take a deep breath, smile. "I'm cool. But I get first shot at pulling the trigger."

The commander nods. "Okay. But you can't hurt him. Much as I hate to admit it, he's still my friend." He can tell I'm still upset. It's one thing to throw insults at each other, it's another to call someone… "Besides, he's the one quoting the Wicked Witch of the West. Meaning we're still the good guys." He chuckles. "And stop smiling like that. You scare me." Meaning either I look like a maniac, or he's one of those people who wonders what happy people are up to.

Still… "Little slimy bastard gonna pay." Mr. Tucker may want to use the sprinkler system and fill it with dye, but there is a way to selectively program what comes out where.

"Hess…" He's standing halfway across the room, and I didn't say it loudly, but he hears me. He shakes his finger at me, warningly. "No hurting Lieutenant Reed. We may need him later, and it will make Captain Archer very upset. And then I will have to be upset, and nobody around here likes it when I'm upset."

"I wasn't planning to hurt him." Much. Physically. But let us just say that there is more than one type of fire-retardant.

Commander Tucker gives me the eyeball, he knows me too well to believe me. "I don't want to have to be a witness at your court-martial, Hess."

"I'll insist upon you as prosecuting attorney, sir." Not that they'd ever allow it, but a girl can dream, can't she?  
  
He changes fingers, and goes back to work. I wait until he's deeply engrossed in his project, and begin my own. Hmn. What to use, what to use, what to use…

A pounding on the door interrupts us. Being the experienced battlers that we are, all heads swing towards the monitors. It's Travis and he looks panicked.

"Let him in." Commander Tucker gestures at two crewmen who run forward and open the door, one of them keeping Mayweather covered, while the other one frisks him.

"I'm unarmed sir, but right now this seems like the only safe place on the ship, aside from the armoury. Everywhere else…"

Commander Tucker looks him up and down, taking in the spots on Travis' uniform. "Looks like you've seen some battle. Have you come to join us, or just catch your breath?"

"I'd like to join you sir. Lieutenant Reed asked, well, demanded I take his side, but someone hit him with a bucket at that moment. One of his own people, by mistake, sir. I figured here might be safer."

"Well, I won't lie to you, Travis, we've had a few friendly fire incidents ourselves. But this _is_ the right side. We have resources the armoury never dreamed of." Commander Tucker loops a friendly arm around Travis' shoulder, leading him _away_ from our programming work. Seems he doesn't trust our helmsman not to be a spy either. Which was the first thing that occurred to me. Starfleet may not be military, but most of us know better than to _volunteer_.

"They've got Hoshi, sir." This information causes Commander Tucker to stop so abruptly that he nearly takes Ensign Mayweather's head off.

"Hoshi? Hoshi is working for _him_?" I half expect to have my non-violence order rescinded, the commander can barely speak. This is bad news indeed, because it means our communications could be badly compromised. There is almost nothing about that system she doesn't know. I mean she's no technician, but Reed has enough people who are, that if she points out a problem…

"We need to start using codes." The commander begins to pace, thankfully letting go of Travis' head, first. "Technobabble ought to confuse them to start, but they'll figure that out soon enough."

"It can't be any language based code sir, they've got Ensign _Sato_." I'm trying to think of something she can't crack, something outside her skill range. "And we've got _you_. I think you can see where that puts us at a disadvantage."

He glares at me, but doesn't deny it. Commander Tucker nearly flunked languages at Starfleet Academy, no one's quite sure how he got through.[2] "Fine, then. Nothing language based. How do you suggest we communicate? Semaphore?"

"Not a bad idea, sir." Rostov wades into the conversation, a contemplative look on his face. "A general colour-code light system…"

"They'll figure that out soon enough too."

"Not right away, sir. And it'll give us some lead time to work on an encryption. After that, we send everything silent, straight to the pads."

And _every_ engineer carries one of those; most other personnel don't. They're part of our tool-kit, and engineers are _very_ possessive about their tools. I don't see anybody being stupid enough to grab an engineer's pad to take a look.

Commander Tucker snaps his fingers then points at Rostov. "Ensign, you are a genius. Hoshi's no cryptographer, not when it's an electronic scramble. And I know…" He starts towards the door, then stops. "No." An odd look crosses his features, one of uncertainty. "Let's just write one of our own."

Travis is staring at us, his mouth hanging open. I think he thought that this was just a game; he had no idea how seriously engineers take these things.

I reach over, and gently tap his jaw closed. "Now, don't you worry about a thing. We've got everything under control."

* * *

[1] According to his file. Which I suspect he doctors. Just because he can.

[2] Most rumours involve the smuggling in of a Universal Translator to the final exam. What is known is that he developed a serious case of laryngitis just in time for the oral test. And that there was an odd break-in to the biology lab about a week before.


	5. Revenge and Intelligence

Disclaimer: These aren't my characters, and I think they're getting away from me…. Oh, dear.

Author's note: Please read, and review. And pass the word again…. grin

No sooner do I finish speaking, than Commander Tucker's com panel starts to beep again. "Tucker."

"Commander." It's Captain Archer again, he doesn't sound happy. "Is there a problem I should be apprised of?"

I clamp a hand over Travis' mouth before he says something stupid to give us away.

"Well, there does seem to be some trouble with the communications and a few of the other automated systems around the ship sir, but nothing life threatening at the moment. I'm sorry it's taking so long, sir, we'll have you out of there as soon as possible." He's trying not to giggle, I see it. "Is there a problem there, sir?"

"Other than the fact that this is turning into a four hour lunch, and it sounds like my ship is being remodelled, none." The captain really doesn't sound happy; some people shouldn't be cooped up.

"Working on the problem as we speak, sir." At that, he does cut the line dead, before he gives himself away.

"You've imprisoned the captain and T'Pol?" Travis stares at Commander Tucker in horror, "Are you crazy? What happens when…"

"They're fine." Commander Tucker waves a hand dismissively. "They've got plenty of food, water. Besides, it's just a technical glitch, which we do happen to be working on."

It's the most finely crafted statement I've heard in a long time, and I grew up around lawyers. There's absolutely nothing there that he couldn't repeat under oath and be in no danger of a perjury charge. No _wonder_ people think he's a great liar. It's because he _hardly ever lies_. He just leaves out a pertinent detail or two, like _how_ we're working on the problem. It's not his fault that everyone misinterprets him.

I guide Travis to a nearby chair and sit him down in it. He doesn't look like he's feeling to well right now. I guess he didn't realise he was joining a quasi-mutiny. I do my best to put him at ease.

"Now, Ensign. You haven't heard anybody actually _say_ that we've locked up the captain, have you?"

He shakes his head, mutely.

"No. You are merely making an assumption. An assumption – might I add – which would not be considered valid evidence during legal proceedings. So, since you have no _real_ knowledge of mal-intent, you cannot be considered a knowing participant in any malfeasance."

He nods this time, but now just looks confused. My work here is done. I head back to my station, continue my little project. I begin to whistle a tune, thinking of all the pain and humiliation Mr. Reed is going to suffer.

"I've got him." Simpson signals us from his station. "B-deck, section 8."

Commander Tucker cues up the monitor, just to be sure. Malcolm's the sneaky type to make us _think_ he's on B-deck, section 8 when it's actually some poor slob who doesn't deserve what's coming next.

It's him, though, sneaking down the edge of the hallway. Commander Tucker gives me the thumbs up and I cue the system.

A fine, purple mist sprays down, covering Lieutenant Reed head to toe. The commander snickers as his friend turns a shade not normally associated with human beings. "Nice one."

I decide not to tell him about the itch inducing compound I mixed in with the spray. He'll find out soon enough…

Commander Tucker laughs harder as Malcolm accuses us of many things, including dubious and non-human parentage. He taps a few controls, allowing intercom access to the corridor. "What's the matter, Malcolm? Violet not your colour?"

"You're dead, sir. I personally am going to make sure that you suffer grievous, horrible pain. Your children's children's children are going to know what you did, and how you suffered for it…."

"Please." Commander Tucker cuts him off. "You guys don't know nothing about family feuds. I happen to know I got a bigger family than yours, and since you've been insulting Hess, hers is going to have to get involved too."

"The Reed name goes back a long time. We don't tend to forgive…"

"Hatfields and McCoys. Our side is a lot more complicated. Now give it up and surrender while you're…"

"Reeds do not surrender." He looks kind of silly, saying this while trying to get at a spot on his back that he can't quite reach. "And even if it were not for the family name, I, personally, would never give in to some one as deeply uncivilised as yourself."

"Well, there's where you've got us wrong, Malcolm." The commander's drawl is thicker now, I'm Southern and _I _can barely understand him. "Because up until this point we've been nothing _but_ civilised. You don't have any clue how uncivilised I can become."

"I have the tactical advantage, I now hold most of the ship. I have the better trained personnel, and I have a great many of your people incapacitate. Which means, I believe, that _I_ have the advantage of numbers."

Commander Tucker snaps a look at his intel team who collectively shrug. "We haven't heard anything like that, sir. But if it's happened since his acquisition of Ensign Sato…"

"We wouldn't hear, either. All right. Try to contact everybody. Anybody you can't get an answer from, consider them lost." He reaches into his box of emergency gear[1] pulls out some antiques.

"Are those really…" I've heard about these, never seen them up close.

He nods. "Two way radios. I've modified them so the signal can get through the walls, but they don't run through the com-system. It's unit to unit only. And they're only good for a max of ten kilometres like this, but I doubt we're going to get that far apart."

"I'm not planning to EVA if you're not." I can't believe what I'm looking at: communications units about the size of two of my fists, antennae protruding from the top. They've got actual knobs on the fronts, and the viewscreens are basic monochrome. He also has a pair of headsets for them, just an earphone and a microphone, nothing complicated. I'm in absolute awe.

"Okay." He hands one of them to Simpson, one to me, and takes the third for himself. "You wanted to join us, Travis? Here's your chance. You, me, and Hess are going on a rescue mission. We are going to liberate our friends, and restore the proper balance of power around here." He slips one of the radios into his pocket, runs the headset cord up the inside of his uniform, before slipping the unit on. "Rostov, I'm going to need you to hold down the fort here. If Captain Archer calls, I'm out looking at the problem."

"Sir…"

"You're not lying, Rostov. Just don't tell him what problem I'm working on." He shakes his head as though he can't believe he has to explain such a simple concept. "You are never going to be a good Chief Engineer if you can't figure out how to stall people with double-talk. Get together with Hess, sometime. She'll make you an expert."

"Thank you, sir." Though I'm not sure if I actually was just complimented.

Rostov nods. "And if he demands to talk to you, sir?"

Commander Tucker rolls his eyes. "We're having trouble with communications, too, Rostov. With Hoshi working for Malcolm that's not even a half lie. Just give him some static, and let it go dead. I'll tell you what. I'll make it an order, and that way you can't get in trouble for it. Okay?"

Even if communications is messed up, we still have the security cameras, and that's how we find our comrades. One set of cameras isn't working, the ones in Cargo-Bay 3. All they show is black, like someone painted over the lenses.

"It could be a trap, sir." Travis taps on the screen. "This is exactly the kind of thing that Lieutenant Reed would think you would look for."

"I know." The commander chews on his thumbnail for a minute, which means he's nervous, not sure if he's making the right choice. He starts flipping through the other screens, then smiles.

"What do you see there?" He points at one of the images.

"Launch Bay two, sir."

"Yes, Ensign, and what is odd about Launch-Bay Two in this picture?"

I lean in, can't see anything at first, then it hits me. "Rostov is standing over there, sir. Which means…"

"Which means that this shot was taken two days ago. Routine maintenance on the shuttle engine. The smart thing is I think they've grafted together a number of images, so the picture is always changing." Commander Tucker looks impressed. "Clever bastard."

"So, Launch-Bay Two then." Travis straightens up, but Commander Tucker stops him. "No. One thing I'll give Malcolm credit for is that he _is_ a good tactical officer. He knows I'd spot the first one, move on to the second. The question is… Lieutenant, name one area on this ship not covered by security cameras."

"Crew quarters sir. It's a violation of…" I stop suddenly. "You don't think. He wouldn't…"

"The one private area on the ship big enough to hold a semi-sized group of people, if you cram them in tight enough. Two actually, neither one in use at the moment, nor likely to be until this is over."

It takes me a moment to believe it. He did say… "Son of a bitch, sir."

Commander Tucker nods. "The captain's ready-room and his quarters."

I feel sick. Even Malcolm's not that crazy… but he is.

* * *

[1] These are not items you need in a standard emergency. Golf balls, toothpicks, tape. Bubble-gum. On the other hand, I doubt there is a situation in existence that he doesn't have something to deal with it.


	6. On the Run

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Not only that, but I think they escaped.

Author's note: Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you for the reviews. I feel so loved. :)

We lose Travis on B-deck, somehow he just disappears. Seeing this, Commander Tucker makes a bolt for his quarters – we nearly get hammered once or twice, but we're both pretty quick – and pulls me inside.

"Now is hardly the time, sir." Especially since I can see him taking his uniform off.

He holds a finger up to his lips and mouths the words you too.

"Sir." I know it seems crazy for me to protest, but a girl likes a little romance first.

He rolls his eyes again, and mouths another couple of words. Bugs.  Trackers.

Oh. Right. Following his lead, I strip down to my underwear. He tosses me a shirt that would do on its own and a pair of pants. He pulls out a belt, and hands it to me with a shrug.

Oh well, it's better than nothing. I snug the belt tight enough to keep the shorts from falling off and roll up the cuffs several times so I don't trip on them. Then, I join him in fishing the radios out of our uniforms. He lays an ear against the door for a moment, then gestures me to come forward.

Out in the hall again, we head back for the turbolift. Only when we're inside, does he actually speak. "What, you don't think I actually _trusted_ Travis, did you?"

"I did sir." It's a hard confession to make. Usually _I'm_ the suspicious one and Commander Tucker tends to be a bit naïve.

"You did, as in you think I trusted him, or you did as in _you_ trusted him?" He knows me well; he wasn't kidding about my fluency in double-speak.

"The latter, sir. It was possible, wasn't it?"

The commander nods. "Yes. But I work more closely with Travis than you do. He's usually a little more cautious than that, not quite so eager to pick sides. And the way he said he picked us… Before you sprayed him, did Lieutenant Reed look like he'd been hit with a bucket? Of anything? _Especially_ in Armoury Red?"

"No, sir. He didn't." I smack my palm into my forehead. "How could I have missed that? Oh. And to think he knows…"

"What I want him to know. He thinks we're heading for the bridge, for the ready room." Commander Tucker leans against the wall, a smug little grin appearing on his face.

"Where _are_ we going, sir?" All I know is that we're not headed towards A-Deck.

"Easy." The grin widens into something approaching manic glee. "The last place we _should_ go. Cargo-Bay Three."

Partway there, his radio beeps. "Tucker, here."

"Sir, I'm picking up serious enemy action down corridor three. Armoury and Science, sir. You might want to consider another route."

"Right. Thanks, Simpson" He looks at me. "Might as well make it interesting." He swings us over to E-Deck, and we make a run for the mess hall.

"Why here, sir?"

"I'm hungry, Hess. I don't do well on low blood sugar." No, he doesn't. You think he's nasty when he doesn't sleep? Try being around him unfed.

The mess hall seems quiet, which would be disturbing except no one wants to risk the wrath of Chef. You don't want to think about where he'd consider a knife or a rolling pin. Nor the fact that you're liable to be on bologna sandwiches for the rest of the mission.

We creep in, taking special care to check under the tables and in the corners. There's lots of places to hide in the mess hall, and the fact that it's deserted only makes it eerier.

The commander's about to open the door to one of the cold cases when I grab his arm. "Sir." A small wire runs off the door, almost invisible to the naked eye.

"Thanks." He looks around, then picks up a chair and uses one of the legs to open the door while keeping his distance.

A fine red spray shoots out, right where he would have been standing. "Booby traps. And on the sandwiches too. Isn't that against the Articles of War?"

"I don't think the Geneva Convention covered foodstuffs, sir. Hospitals, maybe…"

He grabs my arm. "Hess, you're a genius." At least this time I know where we're going.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"What in the world is going on out there?" Doctor Phlox looks the two of us up and down, like he's never seen us before. This cannot be true, because the only place Commander Tucker and I have logged more time in than Engineering is the Sickbay.

"A little tactical exercise." The commander bluffs like a pro, acting like it's nothing. He leans against one of the bio-beds then pulls out his sandwich and begins munching. When he realises Phlox is still staring at him, he holds out the other half. "Sorry. Hungry?"

"No, it just seems like this is an odd place for you to come and have lunch. Is this a human custom I'm unacquainted with?"

"Maybe. Hospitals are supposed to be non-combatant areas, and I'm desperately in need of something to eat." Seeing as there's currently a Dirk Gently-type[1] contest[2] running to see who opens our (illicit) Engineering refrigerator, there was nothing he could snack on earlier.

"I see." The doctor shakes his head, but he's smiling. "And your uniforms?"

"Well," It's a little difficult to understand the commander, as he has his mouth full. "We'd probably be shot as spies, if we got caught like this, but we're in the middle of foiling some enemy intelligence."

"Ah, I see." The great thing about Phlox is that sometimes he understands that it's better not to try and understand. If he thinks we're role-playing, neither one of us is going to disabuse him.

The commander finishes his sandwich and wipes his hands off on his shirt. He looks up, out windows on the doors. "Howy sfit."

"You want to swallow first, sir, then try it again?"

Instead he merely points. Several armoury personnel have grouped around the door, waiting for us. Finally he swallows, clearing his mouth for speech. "How the hell did they find us?"

"I thought you said hospitals were non-combat zones." Luckily for us, Dr. Phlox is keeping one finger on the door lock, preventing them from getting in.

"Yeah, but we're not sure whether or not Malcolm's going with it. We're going to have to get out of here." He grabs my arm again, pulling me along. "Thanks, Doc, we'll use the back way. Believe me, we appreciate this." Then it's up the access ladder, and into the sickbay storage area. From there, we slip into the air-vents; I'm having an easier go of it than the commander.

"I think I'm losing half my skin here, Hess." Which is fine for him, but my main problem is that he's blocking my progress.

Having to squirm to get through the small space is making it difficult to talk. "Well. Unfortunately, sir. I'm the one dealing with. Your feet." Believe me, I'd rather have half my skin scraped off. "I think I know how they tracked us, they just followed the stench." He'd glare at me if he could get his head around, which fortunately he can't. "What is it with your obsession with tunnels, anyway."

"It's not my fault, Hess. You're the one who insisted on that movie, said it was so great."

_The Great Escape_. Actually it _is_ a great movie, but hardly inspirational for our current circumstances. "Most of them _died_ sir. I hope you're planning to make us one of the few exceptions."

"I'm tryin' Hess, believe me, I'm tryin'." I do believe him, especially since he's putting himself through hell. He takes a few random turns (at least I _think_ they're random) before getting us to a vent. Nicely, the vent is right next to a turbolift, so maybe the turns weren't so random after all.

He pops the vent, only to find he has to go out head-first. "Oh, shit."

I close my eyes, not wanting to think about it. A few thumps signal the fact that he's landed, I just hope that nothing important got snapped.

"Okay. I'll catch you."

I move forward, poke my head down. "Catch me, you better." I slowly work my way out until I can bend at the waist. He reaches up, grabs me under the armpits and backs away. It's a good thing I had three brothers, it's taught me how to fall when they do stupid things like that, and forget that you actually might weigh something.

Once we pick ourselves up off the floor, the commander tries the turbolift. "Shit. Someone's commandeered it."

"We could…"

"No." He shoots down my idea before I can even get it out. I _was_ going to suggest we use the ladder, but apparently that's not a viable solution. Curious, and more so, but I'm not about to push it.

Instead he has me stand watch while he pulls off the panel and makes a few adjustments. Never commandeer anything away from an engineer if the electronics are still attached. When the lift reaches our floor, we step back and prepare to fire.

There's no one inside, and he's about to step in when… "Wait." My brother taught me a neat trick, once, and I've always wanted to try it.

I get the commander to give me a boost, and sweep together some dust from inside the air-vent.[3] Carefully, I carry it back to the lift and blow it off my hands and through the door.

Immediately the doorway lights up in a criss-crossing of red, _and_ green. "Talk about paranoid, I think they booby-trapped each other.

"Mnm-hmn." Commander Tucker pulls something else from his pocket, a simple pulse generator. "But somehow I doubt they're using heavily shielded sensors, do you?"

"Give it a shot sir." It can't hurt, and just maybe.

"Turn your radio off, first." He shuts his down, I do the same.

There's no sound, but a second shot of dust reveals no beams. "Looking good, sir."

Now it's just a short hop down to E-deck, and we're at Cargo-Bay 3.

* * *

[1] _Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul_ by Douglas Adams. Definitely recommend it. LMFAO, and I'm not even British.

[2] I've got Rostov in the side-pool; the Commander's going with Bryson.

[3] The bulk of what we call "dust" is actually human skin cells and such. No matter how clean you try and keep things, if there are humans around, dust will accumulate. And _nobody_ cleans inside those vents.


	7. Not In the Plan

Disclaimer:  I do not own these jokers.  I take no responsibility for their actions.  This is not my fault.

            The doors are mag-locked shut, with a portable device running separate from the system.  The commander looks, then tugs my arm.  "Come on."  We pull back down the hall, and he gives me a boost, so I can reach one of the ceiling panels.  It doesn't take much to disengage it, then it's simply a matter of pushing it back inside and scrambling in.  I reach down to take his hand, and he's gone.  Completely.

            "Bastard."  I pull back inside the crawlspace and slide the panel into place.  I can't believe he just left me behind…

            The radio on my belt clicks once.  Twice.

            "Hello?"

            Only static answers me at first, then…

            "Mr. Tucker.  How good of you to join us."  _Not_ the voice I was expecting.  Especially since…

            _Thank-you, sir._  I realise suddenly who Travis was _really_ working for, and possibly Hoshi as well.  The commander must have realised it too, which explained why he never let us get near Cargo-Bay Three.  The only person who knows Commander Tucker well enough to set up a triple-layer bluff to catch him.

            "Captain."  He doesn't sound surprised, merely resigned.

            "Where's your partner in crime, Commander?  I'd like a word with her, too."

            "Sir?"  One thing about Commander Tucker is that he always stands by his people, even in the face of danger.  Which I imagine he's looking into right now.

            "Lieutenant Hess?"

            "I cannot be certain of the lieutenant's present whereabouts, sir."  And he says _I_ can double-talk.  I mean, I might have moved, but…

            "Well, I'm certain you can pass the message on, Commander.  I believe you'll find your 'comrades in arms' inside?  I'm sure they can help you think up a good explanation for being out of uniform while on duty.  Which I'm sure they'll be happy to do once you explain to them that you and the lieutenant will be bearing full responsibility for the actions of any engineering personnel today."  No, Captain Archer does not sound like a very pleasant person to be in a tent with.

            "And suffice it to say, Commander, T'Pol is not a very happy camper right now, either."  Well, that accounts for both of them, then.

            "No, sir."  I can tell this hurts, because – despite all his wisecracks and teasing – Commander Tucker actually does want to impress the sub-commander, even if he doesn't know it himself.[1]And being caught behaving like a child hardly impresses most intelligent women.  I can almost picture him studying his boots at this point.  Sometimes Captain Archer just plays nasty.  I want to jump in and say something, but somehow I know the captain is counting on the commander's and my quasi-sibling relationship.  _Lean on one, and the rest of the guilty parties will confess_.  Except in our family we always took turns playing scapegoat so that all of us weren't punished at once.

            I wait up there, I don't know how long – I'd have left, but the panel isn't easy to pull up from this side -- before the captain calls Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker to his ready-room, and the line clicks in again.

            "She can't hide forever, you know."  Captain Archer's first words are obviously a continuation of the earlier conversation.  "Eventually she'll have to come out and face it."

            "Not until I have a guarantee, sir."

            "A guarantee?"  Captain Archer sounds genuinely confused at this turn of events.  "You aren't exactly in a position to be making demands, Commander.  And from what I can tell, Lieutenant Hess _is_ the one who started all of this."

            "No sir.  I did, sir.  It was my reaction that set this off."  Obviously Commander Tucker hasn't learned how the trick works.

            "Commander…"

            "_Sir_.  I am _not_ in any way attempting to contact Lieutenant Hess until I have a guarantee that Malcolm stays away from her, sir.  At least until this all blows over."  That is so sweet.  I _thought_ he was trying to keep Captain Archer from hitting me with the same punishment as he's going to get, but he's actually thinking of poor, little, personal me.

            "As far as I'm concerned, _Commander_, after that little stunt she pulled, he can do whatever he wants."  I can almost see the satisfaction settling onto Lieutenant Reed's face at the captain's response.  I wish the itch compound lasted more than a couple of minutes, simply because he deserves it.

            "No, _sir_."  My boss bites off each word, he's getting angry now.  "She's _my_ SIC, that makes it _my_ responsibility in the chain of command.  And you have _no_ proof that it was Lieutenant Hess, other than what somebody _thinks_ they heard."  He doesn't get protective like this, often, but when he does, he's like a big momma pit-bull.

            "I see."  The captain's voice comes through, cold, flat.  "Since you are insistent upon taking responsibility, would you mind explaining to me the reasons _behind_ this little stunt?"

            "We were just blowing off some steam, sir.  Maybe it got a little out of hand, sir, but nothing was intended to get nasty.  When it started out, none of it was personal, we were just having fun."

            "Would you care to explain to me exactly _when_ it got personal?"  Uh-oh.  Trick question there.  If he back-stabs Malcolm, he loses a friend, but if he doesn't…

            There's no answer from the commander, he's decided not to let the lieutenant hang.

            "I see." 

            I notice Malcolm's not jumping in to take his share.  I'm glad I don't work for him.

            "You realise, Commander, that I would be fully within my rights charging Lieutenant Hess with assault on an officer."

            "She never touched him, sir."  Commander Tucker's a little light on the finer points of the law.

            "Do you _want_ to be charged with Aiding and Abetting, Commander?"  The captain's getting angrier; this could get nasty.

            "If you think that will be necessary, sir, then charge me.  _However_, I do believe I have the right to whichever attorney I choose."

            "You _can't_ have Hess.  She's your co-accused."

            "I didn't say that, sir.  I have a civilian attorney already sir.  You can have a Captain's Mast if you'd like sir, remove me from duty, but I cannot be formally court-martialled until my attorney of record arrives."  Nor can I, for that matter.

            "I don't want to court-martial you, Trip."  The captain's speaking through clenched teeth now, I can tell by the sound.  "I am giving you the opportunity to get out of it."

            "Well, sir, all I can say is that I want the same level of treatment for Lieutenant Hess.  If you charge her, you charge me.  If you don't charge me, you don't charge her."  He's such a sweet boy.  A little misguided, but sweet.

            "Trip…"

            Commander Tucker doesn't give him the satisfaction.  I can imagine him standing there, looking straight ahead, not falling for any of it.

            "Sir… I…"

            "Shut up, Malcolm."  Okay, so the captain's not too happy with him, either.  "You know what happens if you're court-martialled, Trip.  You'll end up with a black mark on your record, and you'll never get out into space again.  I don't want to do that to you…"  That's nasty.  Commander Tucker has wanted to get out here since he was a kid.

            "Then don't, sir.  It's your decision."  Oooh.  Talk about playing nasty.

            There's a distant thumping sound, I think it's the captain's head and a wall.  "What in heaven's name possessed me to bring you on this mission, anyway?  At the very _least_ I should've had more say in your personnel choices."

            "Lieutenant Hess is an excellent engineer."

            "Lieutenant Hess is a walking force of chaos.  Especially when combined with you, Commander."

            "Sorry about that sir.  You can send us home if you like."

            "And replace you with whom?"

            "There are plenty of competent engineers in Starfleet sir.  I'm sure you can find a couple to handle our duties."  It's his best move:  The Guilt Trip.  No one can look at that sad little face and stay mad forever.  Especially not when he's taking responsibility for his actions.  _Porthos_ can't pull off puppy-dog eyes like Commander Tucker.

            "Fine, Trip.  Have it your way."  He pulled it off, I don't believe it.  "Mr. Reed, place Mr. Tucker under arrest for Insubordination, Aiding and Abetting the Assault on an Officer, and Hindering an Investigation.  And when you find Lieutenant Hess, you can arrest her too."

            Then again, maybe not….

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

A/N:  Is this the end of the line for Hess and Tucker?  Of course not.  Stay tuned for the next episode in the ongoing saga of insanity.

* * *

[1] For this, we refer to Article Seven in the Nic Hess Dating Manual:  Arguments are often a sign of infatuation, especially on the part of the insecure male.  Excessive defensiveness usually indicates deep attraction.     What can I say?  Five brothers.  I've observed a lot.


End file.
